


Dazzle

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Crossdressing Kink, Dominance, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Leashes, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, PWP, Public Sex, Submission, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov joins Kirk, Bones, and Spock on an away mission as the token boytoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dazzle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abbeyjewel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbeyjewel/gifts).



> A/N: My Bex had things to do so I offered her chunks of porn in exchange for doing them. Here’s the whole thing. (And she betaed it for me since I’m so lazy about rereading. Thanks a million, babe! ♥)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The surge of colours that replaces the dull transporter room is so bright, so beautiful, that Pavel loses his breath. It materializes before him in a breathtaking panorama of life. The Joy Festival of Mrennenimus II is everything it promised to be, and Pavel’s so awestruck that he doesn’t even think to be embarrassed as he drops the thin robe from his shoulders. If anything, it’s a relief to shed the excess fabric and fit in with the clearly hedonistic society, so boisterous and open in all its bare delights.

Pavel forgets to retrieve the robe after. It slithers to the floor, his arms not working to catch it—he’s busy staring around at all chaos going on below the raised transporter platform. He only remembers it when the leash attached to his collar jerks down, and he squeaks in surprise and nearly topples over into his captain, who’s bending down to retrieve the fallen robe.

Straightening with it in hand, Captain Kirk issues a profuse, “Shit, sorry,” and quickly unfurls more of the leash’s end from around his hand, giving Pavel more slack. Pavel’s fingers are already on his collar, adjusting it for room to breathe, but he gives Kirk a sheepish smile in the process; he knows it wasn’t on purpose. Captain Kirk is a kind man, and if Pavel has to be leashed—a requirement for at least one of the landing party to have for the Federation to attend the celebration—he’d prefer the end in Kirk’s grasp.

From his other side, Dr. McCoy snorts, “You sure you don’t want me to handle that, kid?” But Kirk just shoots him a warning glare, half diminished by the fond smile. There’s a rack on the side full of various robes and clothing—at least the Mrennenimians seem to understand that most cultures aren’t so... free. Even if they have to be planet side.

Commander Spock is the one that finally ushers them off the platform, reminding them as dryly as ever, “I suggest we make room for the next delegates to arrive, gentlemen.” He may as well be reciting status reports in the briefing room. His tone isn’t at all affected by the wild menagerie of alien culture around them, most of which seems based on sexual pleasure. Half-nude musicians are playing all sorts of instruments all around the square, vendors in wooden stands are offering up lewd toys, acrobats and dancers are performing at odd intervals and a mass of spectators are milling about. None of them pay the landing party any mind beyond giving Kirk, McCoy, and Spock a few lingering, disapproving looks—they’re all still in full uniform.

Pavel can’t help but feel honoured to be chosen as the one that isn’t. When he attended the briefing on this destination a week ago, he practically begged to be allowed to attend. If he’d known that the captain was already planning to take his doctor and science officer, Pavel wouldn’t have dared to ask; he knows how close the three of them are. Everyone does. It makes him feel even more honoured to be allowed to join them, to be the lucky fourth wheel in their perfect threesome. A part of him can’t help but wonder if he was chosen as the kinkier offering because of their equal relationship behind the scenes—even if Kirk is the captain, when it comes to sexual matters like this, perhaps they couldn’t choose one individual to single out. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t be happier.

The icing on the cake is that even his nerves have dissipated. It was strange, walking to the transporter room, wearing nothing but a tiny plaid skirt and knee-high socks beneath his robe. And boots, of course, but he had a more delicate pair synthesized to match his ensemble. He was given access to the invitation transmitted to them, complete with suggestions for appropriate attire, and then he chose his own—something loose, breezy, light but still enough to cover his crotch. ...Even if the transmission forbade underwear. Pavel finishes out the daydreamed memory—stepping onto the platform only to have his captain fit his collar on under his doctor’s supervision and Spock’s watchful eye—and then he realizes that that must mean the other three aren’t wearing underwear either. The blush creeps back onto his cheeks, and he has to fight not to look down at them. Even as they descend the steps into the general square, paved with glass-like stones, none of the marvelous creatures on display entice Pavel quite as much as his own crewmates. The coloured lanterns attached to street lights and hovering about in the air cast a warm glow over all three men’s shoulders, and it’s all Pavel can do not to melt.

The lilting music helps. The air is warm and thick with the smell of fresh baked bread and humanoid bodies, sugary treats and the undeniable stench of _sex._ At least a third of the people they pass are either holding leashes or wearing collars, and many of the Mrennenimians are wearing nothing but straps or chains. Several have masks or sleeves, often with feathered or jeweled or furred decorations. There are too many places to look, and Pavel is actually glad for the leash’s functionality; if he didn’t have Kirk tugging him along, he wouldn’t know where to go.

But Kirk does tug him. There’s a vague direction to the landing party’s walk, though all of them but Spock are occasionally stopped by natives or the sheer awe of it all. A few other aliens, some recognizable and some not, have joined in—Bolians, in particular, seem to be enjoying themselves. When they pass a Klingon bent over a stand of what looks like vibrators, Kirk’s steps falter. Pavel goes red at the prospect of facing a diplomatic incident like this, and Commander Spock coolly says, “Captain, if you feel the distractions are too much, perhaps Dr. McCoy and I should put _you_ on a leash.”

Kirk turns around, spluttering for a response, while McCoy laughs and Pavel _stares_ at the inscrutable Mr. Spock, who may have just told a joke. When Kirk just waves his hand and turns around to resume walking, Pavel assumes he must’ve misinterpreted. Spock was offering genuine mission advice.

There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the tall, stone-and-wood buildings scattered everywhere. All the streets are evenly paved, the festivities tucked into every nook and cranny and only avoiding the darkest recesses of the alleys in between. Somehow, Kirk seems to know where they’re going, but halfway down an alley, where they’re relatively alone, Kirk stops and turns back to Pavel.

Pavel, under the direct gaze of his captain in the most inappropriate ‘clothing’ he’s ever worn, stands rigidly at attention and tries not to glow as red as he thinks he is.

“At ease, Ensign.” Kirk’s face shows genuine concern, care; he’s a good captain, and somehow, Pavel manages to let out a breath and relax his bare shoulders. “Are you doing okay? We can beam back to the ship anytime you’re uncomfortable...”

“But you need someone dressed in the appropriate garb, Sir,” Pavel offers. He doesn’t think he could say, instead, how much he’s actually enjoying this. Kirk scrutinizes him, but McCoy waves a hand and draws both their attention over.

“He’s fine, Jim.” Pavel almost swoons under McCoy’s warm smile, even though he knows it’s mostly medical. McCoy’s summed him all up and seen right through him. “He’ll tell us if that changes, right?” This is addressed to Pavel, who nods a ‘yes’ to his doctor’s orders. Even though he doubts it’ll change.

He appreciates that they’re paying him attention though. That they care about his feelings. He’s not sure he would even notice a tiny ensign if he were a superior officer in the middle of a kinky festival with two supremely handsome boyfriends. Kirk stares at him a moment longer, seems to take McCoy’s advice, and nods. Pavel’s grateful that it spares him the embarrassment of having to say how much he enjoys being presented as his captain’s boytoy.

They head back down the alley, Pavel trying to stifle his grins and stares and knowing full well that McCoy is seeing them all.

* * *

Before long, it becomes obvious how Kirk is finding their direction: every new cluster they pass boasts a new song, but there’s one large, overarching melody that envelops the entire festival. The more they walk, the louder it gets: the closer they’re coming to its source. For the most part, the crew is silent, each distracted with the world around them, and when they pass a three-meter-high bush of glowing flowers shaped suspiciously like a humanoid vagina, Spock announces, “Fascinating.”

McCoy snorts, “That’s the best you’ve got?” It’s an appropriate word to Pavel, but Spock’s tone doesn’t do the sculpture justice. “We land in the middle of a giant orgy, and all you’ve got is the same word you’ve used to describe plants?”

“Sentient plants, if you are referring to the incident I think you are, Doctor,” Spock easily returns. “And your definition of an orgy is obviously incorrect.” Not by much, Pavel thinks, but the more interesting part of his conversation is the word ‘orgy’ coming out of Mr. Spock’s mouth: something Pavel never thought he’d witness.

Kirk slows his steps just long enough to look back at the two senior officers dressed in blue. “Let’s play nice, boys.” His tone is scolding, but his eyes are sparkling. This isn’t unusual banter for them, although Pavel isn’t usually blessed enough to be alone with them during it. He feels like he’s managed to sneak his way onto a date.

Honestly, after reading the invitation to the festival (which he was only allowed after being assigned to the mission) he was surprised to learn the captain, doctor, and first officer would be allowed to beam down fully clothed. They all had their attire pre-approved. But now, as Pavel sees them interacting, it couldn’t be more obvious how they each feel. Even fully dressed, the love between them is so poignant that they fit right in with their surroundings. They’re not overtly sexual, not behind the standard of their naturally good looks, but there’s a romantic energy that almost makes Pavel feel out of place. He tells himself that he’s providing the sexual element: he’s an essential part of this mission. But really, he can’t help but wonder what these men would be doing if he weren’t here, if they’d elected one of them to go down half-naked instead. Would they make it to the Mrennenimian ambassador, or would they duck into the nearest alleyway to alleviate all the urges currently plaguing Pavel’s mind?

Just as he’s thinking, Kirk’s pace quickens, and the slight tug on Pavel’s leash makes him hasten to follow. They’re weaving through sweaty bodies towards the fountain in the center of this square, a tall woman standing in the middle of it and enjoying the spray. It’s easy to tell that she has a higher position than the rest: her cloak is made of nothing but jewels, though she isn’t wearing a stitch of real clothing beneath that. Pavel immediately diverts his gaze to his feet as they approach her; he doesn’t want to be caught staring and ruin the whole thing.

Kirk stops right at the edge of the fountain, McCoy on his other side and Spock next to Pavel. Out of his peripherals, Pavel can see the woman tilting her long neck towards them, her thick, wild black hair washed down her back by the water. The fountain is shaped something like a giant fish, with a whale’s blowhole spouting rain everywhere. She gives Kirk and the others a sweeping look of disapproval, then lands on Pavel’s bare chest and smiles.

“Humans,” she purrs, voice filtering through their automatic universal translators into honey-slicked Federation Standard. “May I assume you are the United Federation of Planets’ representatives?”

“That would be us,” Kirk answers with a charming smile. “I suppose our uniforms gave us away.” Her head rolls from side to side: perhaps an alien version of a nod. Then she gestures right at Pavel.

“This one I like. The rest of you don’t seem to grasp our spirit of things, but I will give you leeway for the gesture of this one.”

“Thank you, Ambassador. We appreciate it. Good will between our peoples is very important to us, and if we could only have a moment of your time to discuss membership to—”

The ambassador makes a circular gesture with her right leg that splashes water over the edge in Kirk’s direction, and he cuts off as she bursts into laughter. Her dark breasts heave with it, and Pavel finds himself staring before he can stop himself, blushing and thankful that he’s on the one planet in the known worlds where that’s alright. There’s something in her plump curves that draws him in, although the trim men around him are usually more his type. This planet really does have a power. The ambassador brushes a fallen dreadlock off her shoulder and tells Kirk quite bluntly, “This is a festival, Captain. We are celebrating sexuality and romance and all things love, and it is no place for politics or negotiations. We can discuss this later, yes? For now, I hope you can enjoy yourselves better than that.” And before Kirk can answer, she’s turned on the spot, eyes fixed on a muscular Andorian across the square. She wades her way through the fountain, climbs off, and weaves off with such an air of dismissal that Kirk doesn’t bother to follow.

Kirk just sighs. “I suppose I expected as much. Well, gentlemen—should we enjoy ourselves?”

“I think she practically ordered us to,” McCoy drawls, which Pavel nods along with: it’s as good an excuse as any. Spock looks on the verge of rolling his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Ensign?” Kirk asks Pavel directly, doing a miraculous job of keeping his eyes on Pavel’s face despite all the temptation around them.

Pavel bites his lip and murmurs, “I think I would wery much like a chance to... study this wery different world, Keptin.”

“Different, hm? At least we’ve finally found a planet that doesn’t look like Russia.”

McCoy laughs, and Pavel almost smiles, grinning broadly. Perhaps he’s made that comparison one too many times.

He doesn’t mention that the trees and plants poking up between paved sections and the architecture itself do bear a striking resemblance to Moscow.

* * *

This is one of those moments where Pavel’s glad he isn’t a captain. There are so many delights around him that he wouldn’t know where to go first, but Kirk is an efficient leader and chooses a direction. He takes them to the edge of the main square, the one with the loudest music and the Ambassador twittering about from one exposed alien to another. Here, the stands are sturdier than those on the outskirts, framed with metal and jewels instead of wood and ribbons. Kirk cruises past one adorned in little rings and cages, but stops in front of what appears to be a fruit stand.

“Try one, visitors?” the sturdy shopkeeper asks, leaning over the stone counter with fruit baskets on either side. Some look like pink bananas without the curve, others large grapes. The person behind the counter, who Pavel can’t discern outright the gender of, plucks one of the smaller fruits off the top of the pile and holds it out to them. The little stem on it looks fuzzy, the round part bulbous and juicy. “Entirely edible, I assure you.”

“What does it do?” Kirk asks, probably because a food stall so simple seems out of place amidst the rest of the festivities.

The shopkeeper smiles. “A mild aphrodisiac, of course. But it also quite sharply amplifies pleasurable sensations.” That sounds good to Pavel, who isn’t particularly hungry but still wants a bite; it looks delicious. When Pavel leans closer, he can smell a sweet aroma from it, and the shopkeeper chuckles and reaches out to pet Pavel’s curls. Embarrassed but not wanting to pull away and cause a diplomatic scene, Pavel stays still and lets himself be touched. “Cute pet you have here.”

“Thank you,” Kirk chirps. If Pavel didn’t know better, he’d think there was a tinge of pride in his captain’s voice.

“How much for one?” Dr. McCoy asks. Evidently, he didn’t read the briefing data as thoroughly as Pavel did.

The shopkeeper chuckles. “Visitors indeed you are. I’m afraid we don’t use currency here, my friend. Besides, this is a celebration. Have one.” He holds the fruit out to McCoy, who gingerly takes it, and that gives Pavel the distraction he needs to straighten out, out of the alien’s grip. Instead, he watches McCoy turn back to Spock, holding out the fruit.

“Say ‘ah,’ hobgoblin.” How anyone could say ‘hobgoblin’ with so much affection is beyond Pavel, but Spock says no more about the comment than usual. He simply steps aside as McCoy tries to force-feed him the fruit. McCoy tries to follow him, but Spock’s disgruntled dodging skills are top-notch, and after a minute or two, McCoy gives up and reaches across Pavel instead, offering the fruit up to Kirk. “Guess that means more for you, Jim.”

Kirk, grinning coyly, leans to take the fruit in his mouth. He goes out of his way to lavish McCoy’s fingers with his tongue first, which makes McCoy’s eyelids lower halfway and his pupils dilate. It’s happening right in front of Pavel’s face, but he can tell that the two men are lost in each other, perhaps forgetting him completely, as Kirk envelopes the fruit and sucks once on the end of McCoy’s fingertips. But then he retracts his lips, teeth tracing over the green stem and clamping down around it. He plucks the fruit out of McCoy’s hand that way, holding it out in his mouth.

He takes a step back, bypasses Pavel—though Pavel turns to watch—and leans in to Spock. Spock looks again on the verge of rolling his eyes, but perhaps he can’t resist an implied order from his captain in the presence of others. He opens his mouth a fraction, and Kirk takes that as an invitation. He pushes the fruit against Spock’s mouth, so hard that it bursts, and the purplish liquids stream down their two chins. Kirk flinches in surprise, but Spock doesn’t react, and neither pulls away. The fruit’s skin is still shared between their mouths, and Pavel is sure that if he only looks that second longer, he’ll see them lick all the juice off each other’s faces.

But that would feel like a violation of their privacy, so Pavel forces himself to look back around, facing the fruit stall. The shopkeeper has a look of surprise on their face and proclaims, “Why are you leaving your pet out?” The shopkeeper shakes their head like it’s the most perplexing thing in the world, which makes Pavel feel special, even though he knows exactly why he was left out and doesn’t have a problem with it. He’s still grateful when the shopkeeper picks up another fruit and says, “For you, little one.”

Pavel holds out one palm, but he isn’t fast enough. The shopkeeper has already pushed the fruit forward into Pavel’s chest. Pavel yelps in surprise at the strange, rubbery texture and the coolness of it, but he can’t actually move back—the captain and first officer are right behind him. The shopkeeper pays him no notice and draws the fruit in a slow circle around Pavel’s left nipple before rubbing right over it, until the little nub is hardening and Pavel is lifting his hand to his mouth to stifle the reaction.

The shopkeeper drags the fruit over to the right nipple and instantly crushes the fruit into him—it bursts and splatters his pale skin. It dribbles right down his smooth stomach, but Pavel barely notices the spill. His nipple’s covered and instantly hardens, warm and prickling; it feels strange and warm, though the juice is cold, and it’s tingling. He wants to touch it. It feels good, very good, bizarrely arousing, right in that one section of his body, and Pavel realizes belatedly that he’s trembling. Both his nipples are now erect, straining forward, begging to be touched. He doesn’t know what to do. He looks at Dr. McCoy helplessly and sees a stirring hunger in his eyes. Pavel mumbles before he can stop himself, “Clean me up?” The doctor licks his lips, and Pavel moans—yes, with _that_. He wants Dr. McCoy to lick him clean.

A hand loops around his waist, soft fabric against his bare skin, and he looks over at Kirk, who’s come back to his other side. Kirk’s lips and chin are sparkling, probably with Spock’s spit, and he looks down at Pavel’s chest with his perfect blue eyes.

Pavel deliberately jerks his head aside to move the leash, to remind Kirk of the hold over him and hopefully draw Kirk closer. Pavel bites his lips and begs, “Please?”

Maybe it’s the juice affecting them both, but Kirk ducks his head. He swipes his tongue across Pavel’s breast, right above his nipple. Scooping up the juice. Somewhere in the background, Pavel can hear Spock’s voice explaining, “...only proper to respect the native culture...” and Pavel quite agrees; they’ve been invited to a sexual circus; it would be positively rude not to lick each other down in the square.

Then Dr. McCoy’s tongue flattens against Pavel’s chest, and Pavel is downright whimpering. He can’t help it. He stares down at McCoy’s brown hair and Kirk’s dirty-blond locks, eyes all closed, tongues out, pink lips running over his skin. McCoy bends to clean the spill off Pavel’s stomach while Kirk sucks on Pavel’s nipple, drinking up all the juice. Pavel wishes he had milk to feed his captain, that he had something there to keep Kirk latched on forever, but eventually, Kirk stops suckling and pulls away, dragging a thin trail of saliva.

Pavel is panting and shivering and desperate for more, but his superiors are moving on, and he’s respectful enough not to beg any further. He instead occupies himself with daydreams of being a human plate to the three men, lying across their table in the morning with sauces smeared all over his torso. Kirk wipes his mouth off on his sleeve, then asks the vendor, “Could we possibly have another for the road?”

The shopkeeper holds another out, bidding them, “Happy travels, visitors.” Kirk nods a thanks, looking golden and insanely perfect.

He scoops Pavel up and leads the four of them away from the stand, holding out the fruit and saying, “Your turn, Bones.”

* * *

They’re halfway over a bright blue bridge that crosses a thin river when McCoy’s hand closes around Kirk’s. It’s the one with the leash, so when he takes them right instead of left, Pavel’s jerked along, Spock right beside him even without the physical tether. Kirk doesn’t protest, just lets McCoy lead them right up to another stall, this one owned by a tall alien who’s too busy staring at the band across the way to acknowledge them. Paying it no mind, McCoy pulls one of the open baskets on the countertop towards himself. It’s full of little metal clamps shimmering in the light.

McCoy plucks one out, opens its ends and closes it again, drawling, “I suppose there’s no point trying to convince Spock a few of these might look good on his dick.” Pavel has the distinct impression that McCoy’s forgotten his presence; either that, or they’ve donned an unspoken ‘what happens on Mrennenimus stays on Mrennenimus’ rule. Either way, McCoy asks, “Jim? Pretty sure you could handle it.”

Kirk rolls his eyes and suggests, “Why don’t you take them? You’re the one that’s into that sort of thing.”

“I’m into doing it to others. Now, do you want to help me wrestle Spock down or are you going to volunteer yourself?”

“You know, I think I wouldn’t mind turning the tables on you for once.”

“As though _I’m_ the one always introducing new toys.”

“You usually are when metal’s involved.”

Pavel’s so busy looking back and forth between his captain and doctor that he doesn’t even notice the first officer until Spock is stepping up beside him. Kirk steps aside without even looking, just rolls on arguing with McCoy, as though moving around to suit Spock’s position is so natural he could do it in his sleep. Spock pays the two bickering men no mind. He dips into the bowl of clamps and takes two in his palm while Pavel stares. He never thought he’d see Spock handling sexual accessories, and he’s intensely interested in where they’ll end up. He doesn’t imagine Spock’s volunteering to clip them onto his own cock, although Pavel would like to see that a great deal more than he’d care to admit.

He’d like to see any part of their bodies pinched and flushed and teased. Spock holds one of the clamps against his palm and readies the other in his fingers, holding it open.

He turns to Pavel and looks Pavel dead in the eye. Pavel, caught on the spot and somehow, inexplicably sure of what Spock’s asking, inclines his head in a _yes._ Mr. Spock’s dark gaze drops to Pavel’s chest, and he lifts the clamp up to Pavel’s left nipple. It’s still semi-erect from the earlier attentions and the open air, but Spock still rubs the blunt end of the clamp around the little nub until it hardens completely, while Pavel looks away and bites his lip. He stiffens and nearly gasps when Spock lets go of the clamp. He does let out a small, high-pitched keening noise. The clamp’s small and light and not even particularly tight, but the pinching sensation shoots through him all the same. It makes him hyper aware of his nipples, makes him feel like he’s being held ready for the promise of more. Spock calmly draws the second clamp over to his right nipple, still moist from juice and saliva. When this one releases, Pavel whimpers. He thinks he must look ridiculous, but it’s stimulating and strange, and he can’t help himself from looking over the array of light chains adorning the table, some coloured and others bejeweled. They must be meant to attach between clamps, and Pavel has the overwhelming urge to beg to be dressed up like an expensive sex toy, all chains and clips and no clothes. If McCoy wanted, Pavel would happily drop his skirt and let his superior officers clip anything they wanted to his cock, his balls, anywhere they wanted. He looks up when Spock inspects him, because he doesn’t want to give even the faintest sign that he wants this miracle to stop.

It takes him a second to realize that McCoy and Kirk have stopped talking over him. McCoy finally teases, “Why, Spock. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I was merely attempting to avert another of your childish arguments, Doctor.”

Kirk, grinning back and forth between Pavel and Spock, adds, “And if sexual toys must be applied, doing so to our display officer carrying the mission would only be logical.” If Pavel didn’t know better, he’d judge Spock’s expression as annoyance, but that only makes Kirk laugh.

McCoy smoothes a large hand over Pavel’s chest, running across his abs. Pavel sucks in a breath, trying to hold still. But he thinks his thighs might be trembling, and he knows his skin is burning up. McCoy’s thumb brushes over one of Pavel’s clamped nipples, and Pavel releases a loud, filthy moan that’s been building up all day. He tries to snatch it back into his throat, but McCoy’s already grabbed the clamp and tugged it forward, and Pavel loses himself in other powerless noises, in arching forward into McCoy’s touch. He can only vaguely hear McCoy chuckling, because the blood’s pounding so hard in his ears. McCoy twists Pavel’s nipple, just a little bit at a time, and Pavel looks helplessly over at Kirk, who drops a hand to his cheek, stroking gently over his skin. Pavel leans into that too, and long, elegant fingers slide over his other nipple, gently rolling around it. He doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Spock. Spock gives him light touches and McCoy tugs and squeezes the clamp and twists. Pavel’s a quivering wreck. He’s completely hard beneath his skirt, and his only saving grace is that half the world around them seems to already be in that state. It’s so easy to fall into the moment in this atmosphere, while the three men he admires most play with his body.

Kirk breaks the magic first, looking over at the alien behind the stall to ask, “May we have these?”

The alien grunts assent, now staring at Pavel, who shuts his eyes so he won’t have to see. It’s easier to just be for Kirk, and McCoy, and Spock, whom he knows and respects and desperately wants in bed. McCoy ends up jerking his nipple so hard that Pavel stumbles around, drawn by it, yelping, even as the leash pulls his head back. McCoy reaches up to hook a finger under collar, using the double grip to tug Pavel forward. He calls back, clearly more at Kirk than Pavel, “Come on, boy.” Spock follows on his own.

After a few steps, McCoy relinquishes his grip on Pavel’s abused nipple, and Kirk returns to the lead, leash in tow. It doesn’t make Pavel any less impossibly turned on.

* * *

They’re strolling down an alley between squares, lined on either side in fanciful flowerpots and oddly shaped baskets when the ground erupts beneath Pavel’s feet. He stops in his tracks out of sheer shock, while a rush of warm water shoots up beneath his skirt, slicking between his legs. It runs right up between the cheeks of his ass and along the underside of his cock and balls, tilting them up with the pressure. Pavel shoots his hands out to keep his skirt down, but he can already feel his socks soaking through and the water’s already beating at his crotch. It takes him a full five seconds before he stumbles off of it, shaking in surprise. The others have stepped out of the way too, and several sprinklers are now visible amidst the pavement, shooting random little fountains into the air. Pavel doesn’t give them much thought.

He’s busy staring down at Kirk, who must’ve hit his own landmine. His pants are practically glued to his skin, right against his thighs, molded around the clear indent of his cock. His shirt is also splattered, but Pavel’s so busy staring at the outline of his captain’s dick that he hardly notices.

Then he hears McCoy laugh, and he glances back to see Spock inspecting his ass, also soaked. The way the fabric now clings to his taut rear makes Pavel’s mouth water. His only regret is that McCoy’s clearly evaded the debacle, which is a shame, because Pavel would love to see more of his body.

Pavel’s own body is a wreck. He holds his hands over his skirt because it’s clinging to him just as bad as Kirk’s pants, and his chest’s heaving from the fright. His white socks are practically transparent. He can still feel water rolling down his crack and clinging to his crotch. From the way the moisture lingers, he wouldn’t be surprised to find the substance to not even be water, but some bizarre alien drink. He’s dripping wet, but there’s nothing to dry off on. He stares aimlessly forward and hopes the captain has a plan of action, preferably one that doesn’t include going back to the ship while the festival’s still going.

McCoy’s the one to speak first. He makes no effort to hide his appreciative looks as he takes all of Kirk in and comments, “You might want to take off that shirt before you catch a cold, Jim.” Kirk shakes his head, grumbling.

But to Pavel’s delight, he does strip the gold fabric over his head, abruptly and efficiently. It slides right off his skin, exposing the tight expanse of his stomach, then his hard abs, then his strong arms. He lowers the tunic afterwards and wraps it around his waist by the sleeves, standing there looking particularly scrumptious in the evening light. Pavel knows he shouldn’t stare but can’t help it—there’s no telling when he’ll get to see the illustrious Captain Kirk shirtless again. Kirk looks pointedly at McCoy, who simply says, “There, now we look more even. Two properly dressed officers and two pets. Why don’t you give Spock Chekov’s leash, and we’ll go find a collar for you.” For a brief moment, Pavel’s wildly excited, partially to see his beloved captain done up like a pet and half for the prospect of belonging to Spock, who probably wouldn’t have taken part otherwise.

But Kirk lovingly says, “Shut up, Bones,” and picks up the dropped leash’s end before turning and continuing down the street.

* * *

There’s no pretense to the final square of the festival. There’s a fountain in the center, like so many others, the winding streets all pouring out from around different buildings to meet in the center. There are no venders around, and the only music is that drifting in from other places. The lanterns are floating in the air, and all around the fountain are couples and groups of people stripped down to nearly nothing, touching and kissing and in the throes of making love. Some are locked in soft, soulful embraces, while others are brutally pounding each other into the paved street or the side of the fountain. Pavel stops walking around the same time the rest of the group does, shocked as they all are.

Kirk breaks the silence—or their silence, anyway; the aliens are a mass of moans and cries—with a whistle. Pavel’s gaping ahead, but in his peripherals, he can see McCoy looking over. “Down, boy. I think we’ve shared enough.” Kirk makes a face, maybe disappointed, and McCoy adds, “Besides, it’d be cruel to get Chekov mixed up in that.”

Pavel’s face jerks to the side. He doesn’t think it’d be at all cruel to be brought into an alien orgy. In fact, the more he looks, the more he _wants_ to join. It’s an intimidating thought, yes, but so long as he has his captain and doctor and science officer with him, what can go wrong? He feels right with them. He looks over at Kirk, who nods begrudgingly, and Pavel lets out a pathetic whimper he’d never make usually. Not in front of his superior officers, not on duty. But today his nipples are clamped and he’s wet between his legs and he’s aching hard, and he wants to play so badly he can taste it.

To his surprise, Spock says, “I disagree, Doctor.”

Evidently, Pavel’s not the only one surprised. Kirk and McCoy swivel around, staring at Spock, who looks perfectly serious. At their confused stares, he elaborates: “Were you not lecturing me just yesterday about the cruelty of sexual teasing? I believe you have been ‘teasing’ Ensign Chekov all day, and it would be very rude, by your human customs, to not at least offer to relieve his symptoms.” With a pause and a small air of distaste, he throws in, “...Perhaps not so publicly, however.”

Kirk and McCoy look at each other. Then they look back at Spock as though he’s grown a third ear, and then they look at Pavel, who blushes profusely but still tries to look cute and alluring.

Finally, Kirk asks, stone-faced, “Ensign... would you like to go into an alley and have us ‘relieve your symptoms’?” Even as ridiculous as the proposition is worded, Pavel nods like crazy. He can tell that Kirk is being serious with him to show that there’s no pressure, to not try to lure out any answer.

But Pavel’s hell-bent on a ‘yes,’ and insists, “Yes, yes, wery much. If... if you are all open to that...?” Because he doesn’t want to intrude.

“On the contrary, you’re just the kind of fourth we like,” McCoy says, grinning lecherously, now that it’s all out in the open. As Jim’s currently ahead of them, McCoy scoops Jim up in his arm to usher them back around the way they came, and Kirk brings Pavel by the collar, Spock leading their new procession.

That gives Pavel the first real chance this night to examine Spock’s ass he walks, dark pants soaked through as they are, clinging to his taut cheeks. If the collar weren’t holding Pavel back, he’d be running at the speed of light.

* * *

He wants all three of them. He doesn’t know which he wants more, and the thought of having even one of them while the other two watch makes his knees weak; Kirk practically has to drag him into the narrow little alley behind the orgy-filled square. When it seems like Pavel might fall over, McCoy splays a large hand over his back, and Spock fills his vision ahead of him, so beautiful. Pavel’s never had an alien before. He’s never had a man like James T Kirk either, or anyone even as close to handsome as Dr. McCoy. They’re all so incredibly gorgeous in their own unique ways, and when they come to a halt halfway down the passage, Pavel whines pitifully because he still can’t choose.

He doesn’t have to. Kirk turns to him and pushes him back; Pavel stumbles, and Kirk grabs both of Pavel’s small shoulders and slams him into the brick wall behind them. The shadow of the building’s overhang eats into them, McCoy and Spock hovering just out of it, still alight in the high lanterns and the thin glow of the stars. Pavel’s so incredibly pleased, but he’s a good soldier, and he doesn’t move without his captain’s permission. His arms stay loose at his sides, until Kirk presses into him, and then he grips weakly at Kirk’s middle and whimpers with want. Kirk chuckles and presses a short kiss to his forehead. Pavel can’t take it. He’s still wet all over, and he rubs his thighs together through the slick, sticky mess. He breathes into Kirk’s shoulder, “Please, please take me...”

Kirk whispers, “Shh,” and kisses him again, brushing his curls aside to make more room. The closer Kirk pushes into him, the harder his clamped nipples flatten into Kirk’s broad chest. Kirk’s skin is so warm against his, a little damp and perfectly chiseled and stronger than Pavel, bigger, absolutely everything out of one of Pavel’s wet dreams. He can’t help but thrust his hips forward, pushing his tented skirt against the front of Kirk’s pants. He can feel the outline of his captain’s cock, and he whimpers in the absence of begging.

Kirk murmurs, “Good boy.” Pavel _glows_. That’s all he ever wanted to hear. Kirk’s hands lower down Pavel’s body, brushing down Pavel’s sides, grazing over Pavel’s skirt. Then they’re on Pavel’s thighs, sliding up, and Pavel makes a high-pitched gasp, head tossing back against the wall. Kirk takes the invitation to mouth at Pavel’s throat. He nips at the side of Pavel’s neck and _sucks_ , while his hands dip under Pavel’s skirt and bunch it up, sliding around the bare cheeks of his ass to cup them tight. Kirk squeezes at the same time that his tongue laves over the wound he bit into Pavel’s neck, and Pavel’s already seeing stars. It’s a chore to keep his eyes open, to stay focused.

But when he does, he can see McCoy over one of Kirk’s shoulders, massaging his package, and Spock over the other, watching intently. Pavel only wishes he had three holes to take them all at once, but then, just the one of them already has him so lost. Kirk plays with his ass so expertly, squeezing hard and kneading his cheeks and running two thumbs down his crack, prying it open. Pavel’s sure Kirk’s hands are getting dirty with the strange alien liquid that’s still drizzled all over Pavel’s rear, but Kirk doesn’t seem to mind. While holding Pavel’s cheeks apart, he runs his index fingers up and down, dragging trails in the not-water that Pavel hopes will work as lube. When Kirk’s fingertips brush over Pavel’s puckered hole, he practically melts.

He twitches his hole against Kirk’s fingers, and Kirk chuckles against his skin and nips up his jaw, rubbing little circles around his entrance. The more he flexes, the more Kirk strokes him, and then one blunt fingertip pushes inside, and Pavel keens. He lifts his arms to throw around Kirk’s neck, delighted when Kirk lets him stay. Kirk pecks his cheek and starts to piston the one finger into him. So far, the liquid is definitely working as lube. The only difference than it and the jelly Pavel often uses to finger himself is that this substance is growing warmer with the attention, until it’s burning and tingling and seems to be amplifying all the sensations. Every little movement of Kirk’s finger wracks through the entirety of Pavel’s body, and soon Pavel’s trembling and whimpering and trying to rock his ass back onto Kirk’s fingers. Kirk is still slow as he adds the second finger, and he says over Pavel’s cry, “Would you like to feel Spock’s dick inside you, Ensign?”

Pavel, caught off guard, blinks his eyes open for a minute. His lashes feel heavy. Kirk’s still fingering him, but as Pavel stalls, Kirk nips at Pavel’s cheek. Pavel gasps and insists, “Yes, Sir. I would, wery much.” He really, really would, and he glances over Spock’s shoulder, eyes fixated on Spock’s crotch, still drenched in the same liquid currently helping Kirk’s fingers plunder Pavel’s channel. He can see the outline of a very impressive member, and he licks his lips just thinking about it, only to nearly bite his tongue when Kirk crooks a finger inside him.

“I’m sure you would. Have you ever seen an alien cock, Chekov? Vulcan genitalia is quite interesting...”

Pavel mumbles, “ _Please,_ ” but he’s not sure which of them he means it at. Spock has no reaction, and Kirk is still torturing Pavel’s hole.

“It grows, is the thing,” Kirk continues, while Pavel’s eyes widen. He wants to look at Kirk’s face and judge how serious the comment is, but he can’t look away from Spock. “Once it’s stimulated, it expands, plugging the partner up and making it almost impossible to separate. It’s very logical, if you want to ensure your seed gets home. But of course, with cute little things like you, it could be a problem...”

Pavel moans. No, it really wouldn’t. He’d take it. He wants to take it. He opens his mouth to plead for the opportunity to prove himself, but then Kirk smoothly explains, “Especially if we want to fit at least two of us in you at once. Fortunately for you, Bones and I have nice, human cocks... and with the right preparation—” Kirk crooks his fingers again, jamming them right into that one spot that makes Pavel’s toes curl in his boots, and he cries out. “—I think a promising young officer like yourself could handle it.”

Pavel’s tripping over himself to comply. He presses his face into Kirk’s when he nods, just to make sure it’s understood, so he doesn’t see McCoy move until McCoy’s right at his side. Kirk, without slipping out of Pavel’s hole, takes hold of Pavel’s ass and jerks Pavel forward, away from the wall. Pavel stumbles into his captain, held up by the fingers inside him, but there’s barely any time for the warm air to hit his back. McCoy is sidling up behind him. Pavel makes it worse by trying to lean back, tossing his head over McCoy’s big, broad shoulders, and McCoy grunts and swears under his breath. His voice is deeper than Kirk’s, more gravelly, and his body’s bigger, older, more mature—Pavel gets the best of every world. Between Kirk’s fingers, Pavel can feel the front of McCoy’s pants, and he tries to rub into it, but Kirk has such a tight grip on him that he barely manages a light wiggle.

“Eager little thing,” McCoy chuckles, and Pavel mewls in confirmation. He tries to bend his head back enough for a kiss, but McCoy isn’t looking at him, instead staring down between their bodies, so all Pavel can do is nuzzle into McCoy’s jaw and hope it’s alright. There’s a slight scratch of stubble to his strong chin. McCoy grins at him but keeps concentrating. If he’s doing what Pavel thinks he is, Pavel doesn’t want to interrupt, so he looks at Kirk instead, awaiting instructions.

Kirk’s watching McCoy. He asks, “You want me to hold him open for you?” Like Pavel isn’t even there. Something about being completely looked over makes Pavel warmer than it should—it completes the game of power: one little, young ensign with three of the most powerful officers on the ship. Three perfect men already in a relationship. They don’t need Pavel at all, and being included, even as an afterthought, feels like an honour.

McCoy says, “Yeah.” It sounds a tad guttural—his voice has been getting more so all evening—something different to his American accent than Kirk’s. Then he flips up Pavel’s skirt, and Pavel’s head clears right out. The fabric clings to his waist with the strange alien liquid, holding it out of the way, while Kirk pries his cheeks apart and hooks two fingers on either side of his hole, spreading him open. Kirk tugs him a centimeter away from the wall and uses his arms to bend Pavel forward—Pavel tosses his arms back around Kirk’s neck and tries to stick his ass out, tries to present his hole as best he can. There’s a second of silence, where Spock steps closer, right up to Kirk’s side, and reaches out to brush a hand through Pavel’s hair. Pavel instantly preens and leans into the touch, just as the head of McCoy’s cock pushes against his entrance, giving no pretense before shoving right inside.

Pavel _screams_ , but the noise is cut off—Spock’s grabbed him by the hair and jerked his face sideways, slamming their mouths together. It’s such a shock that Pavel almost forgets the incredible pressure in his ass, the giant squeeze that is McCoy’s brute of a cock sliding up inside him. He didn’t get a proper look at it, but he can _feel_ how big it is, how wide, how strong; he can’t stop his ass from flexing wildly around it, trying to adjust. McCoy just keeps smoothly sliding in, bit by bit. There’s no pain. Kirk stretched him, and the lube is exquisite. Kirk’s fingers have slipped out. Spock’s fingers tighten in his hair, drawing his attention back, and Spock’s tongue is running along the seam of his closed lips— _Commander Spock wants to kiss him with tongue._

Pavel never thought he’d be this lucky in his whole life. He eagerly opens his mouth, delighted when Spock plunges inside right away, already mapping out his teeth and tongue and the roof of his mouth like it’s a scientific survey. McCoy keeps pushing in, Spock swallowing every little noise that McCoy wracks out of him. Kirk’s still flattened all against his chest. Every time McCoy adjusts inside him, it rubs his body against his captain’s. The clamps, crushed between them, put an aching pressure on Pavel’s nipples that he wouldn’t dare ask to be released from. He wants them sore for days after this, so every time his uniform chafes against them, he remembers this. Assuming he can even go on duty. After having a beast of a cock like what McCoy’s packing, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to walk, and the thought of taking his captain’s too...

Pavel only realizes he’s whimpering uncontrollably when Spock’s hand drifts around to gently cup his cheek, thumb stroking his skin in soothingly little circles. Pavel tries to relax, tries to breath, but then McCoy gives a final shove that would send Pavel toppling over if it weren’t for the other two, and he’s lost again. McCoy grinds into Pavel like setting up camp, so deep that it feels impossible. It’s so _good_ already though, just filling Pavel and stretching him. Every time he flexes his ass, he gets a spark of pleasure magnified through the liquid that must be like the berries. One of McCoy’s hands wraps around Pavel’s waist, and the other lifts to turn Pavel’s face away from Spock. Without the stopper, Pavel’s noises permeate the alleyway, puncturing the music. “You like that, Ensign?” McCoy hisses. Pavel just nods like a dog. He might be drooling, or maybe it’s Spock’s saliva dribbling out the corner of his lips. Spock pets his hair and Kirk holds his hips, and McCoy swats his ass, barking, “Up, boy.”

A little shocked, Pavel looks over his shoulder. McCoy slaps him again, hard enough to make him wince, and Kirk squeezes his hips, drawing his attention forward. “Jump up, Chekov.” It still takes another second for Pavel to understand, and then he’s nodding dazedly, clutching tighter to Kirk’s neck and licking his lips. He takes a moment to steady himself, to work up the nerve, and then he pushes off the ground, holding Kirk tight, still impaled by McCoy. His legs fly out from under him, wrapping around Kirk’s waist. Kirk helps, supporting him and holding him up, and Spock’s hands slide down Pavel’s bare legs, guiding his boots to hook over one another. The adjustment gives another angle to where he’s being penetrated, and he wriggles his ass on it whilst resisting the urge to drool all over his captain’s face and beg to be filled again.

“Ready for the second part?” Kirk purrs.

Pavel moans, “Yes, Sir,” and rolls his hips forward. It draws a groan out of McCoy that Pavel would love to cause again, but he doesn’t dare try again for fear of losing balance. Instead, he tries to hold his ass open, even though it doesn’t seem possible to fit anything else in him with McCoy already filling him up. With Pavel’s body cutting off the view of Kirk’s crotch, he’s not even sure how they’ll manage this, but Spock jumps to the rescue. He reaches under Pavel’s thighs, and the top of his hand brushes over Pavel’s skin as he fishes into Kirk’s pants. A moment of fiddling, in which Pavel is entirely occupied by watching Kirk and McCoy kiss over his shoulder, and something spongy is prodding at his furrowed entrance. Spock’s fingers set to work before Kirk can fit inside; Spock strokes him and rubs him and sloshes more lube around, while Pavel flexes and whines. A bit of attention, and Spock can slip one finger inside, hooking into it, coaxing the walls wider. Pavel doesn’t even know how he manages to loosen any more—maybe the strange lube is helping? But he does, and Spock manages to get two fingers inside, holding open. Then he pushes at McCoy, and McCoy starts to withdraw, much to Pavel’s protest. Kirk presses in a second later, and they both halt, the two heads poking inside Pavel’s gaping entrance.

Spock says, “Now,” and both men shove up inside, Kirk and Spock’s hands pulling Pavel’s waist down, and Pavel throws his head back and _shrieks_ at being completely split open. Kirk is almost as big, and together they’re impossible—there’s no way they can fit—they’re both so very big and hard and Pavel’s always been so tight—but they’re going, bit by bit, and it doesn’t hurt even though he _knows_ it should. The lube makes him burn, but it’s pleasant, all pleasure, like the pain is being filtered into lust. Both men press closer as they impale him, flatten into him so thoroughly that he doesn’t have any room to breath; his lungs are crushed. He makes a small, high pitched gasp over Kirk’s shoulder and throws one hand back to squeeze McCoy’s hip, just needing to hold onto something. They keep going, further and further, prying every part of him open, until he’s shaking and helpless and can hardly see straight. His own cock is rock hard between his and Kirk’s chests, but he doesn’t dare touch himself, because he knows he’ll come any minute if he does. And he couldn’t coordinate himself to do it if he tried. All he can do is cling to his superiors and ride them out, and he looks at Spock and mewls.

Spock strokes his cheek like trying to coax a song out of a delicate bird. The more Pavel stares into Spock’s eyes, the easier it is to breathe, though he’s still burning up and sweating everywhere and being sandwiched beyond human limits. By the time he realizes McCoy and Kirk are kissing again, he’s only managed to regain a fraction of sense, and he turns his face to nuzzle into them, trying to get in on the action, tongue darting for their lips. The two men part, chuckling lightly, and Kirk gives Pavel a sweet, chaste kiss while McCoy nips at his neck. Placated, Pavel turns back to Spock, who leans forward to capture him in a thorough kiss.

The other two use that distraction to start sliding out, then to slam back in, and Pavel screams again at the top of his lungs, breaking away from Spock’s lips and pressing into Spock’s forehead instead. Spock strokes his face to soothe him, and Kirk hisses, “ _Fuck,_ ” at the exact same time McCoy mutters, “ _So tight._ ” It isn’t that. They’re just abnormally _huge_ and there’s _two_ of them and Pavel isn’t built for this. They give him no break. They slink half out again, dragging along his walls and one another, slick with the ever-present lube. On the next push in, one of them hits the perfect angle, though Pavel has no idea who, and he tries to scream in pleasure but doesn’t have the ability. It comes out choked. He’s already screamed himself hoarse. The two of them pound into him, over and over, at a steady, brutal rhythm, and Pavel rides them both out, one hand now clutching Kirk’s bicep and the other clinging to Spock’s shirt. Spock’s hands are all over him—in his hair, along his cheek, below his chin, lips grazing everywhere. McCoy is biting deep grooves into his shoulder. He can’t keep track of them all. There might be tears at the corner of his eyes.

Somewhere amidst the chaos, Spock’s hands slip off his face, down his body, cupping his breast and toying with his abused nipple. Kirk moans along with it, the back of Spock’s hand brushing his too, and McCoy’s arms are now wrapped thickly around Pavel’s waist, the better to bounce him up and down with. He loses track of what Kirk’s hands are doing, but one of Spock’s grabs Pavel’s far wrist, then collects the other, and Pavel lets himself be molded. When he realizes where they’re going, he arches back into McCoy’s hungry mouth, giddy beyond belief. He just assumed he’d have to settle for pleasing two of his three heroes, but somewhere along the line, Spock’s pulled his dick out of his pants—or maybe Kirk did that? Spock guides Pavel’s fingers over to the engorged shaft, long and curved and covered in pulsing green veins, the tip a yellow, mushroom thing that makes Pavel salivate to look at. Spock’s hands leave his wrists as soon as they’re in place, and that’s fine; Pavel can do this on his own. He eagerly locks his fingers around Spock’s girth, squeezes and strokes through the thin liquid that seems to have permeated right through Spock’s pants. Spock’s hands return to Pavel’s body, tracing McCoy’s hold on him.

Kirk purrs in Pavel’s ear, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Pavel thinks he means Spock’s dick, but it could be anything. Spock is _so_ beautiful. No wonder the captain and chief medical officer so adore him. And Pavel does too, Pavel admires him so much, admires all of them, and he pumps Spock’s shaft while McCoy and Kirk fuck his ass, and he even tries to squeeze around them, but his muscles are already quivering beyond his control. He’s so overwhelmed.

Spock’s growing in his hand. He almost doesn’t believe it, but he can feel it, and when he manages a good look between their bodies as they writhe about, he can see it filling bigger and bigger, and they were right—he could never have fit it inside him alongside Kirk, definitely not alongside McCoy. This was for the best. He only wishes he could reach down to get his mouth around it—he couldn’t fit it down his throat, but he could lick and suck, and he’ll beg to after this; he wants to lick clean every one of them, even the cocks that’ve been in his own ass; he wants to suck on his hunky doctor and swallow everything that comes out of his captain’s dick. Spock’s he just wants to _worship_. He’s almost completely forgotten about his own pleasure when Spock’s hands start spiraling down his stomach, dipping through his curls.

Spock’s talented fingers wrap around Pavel’s shaft, squeezed against Kirk’s stomach, and all Spock has to do is give one pump.

Pavel _explodes_. He screams, his fingers tense around Spock’s dick, his toes curl in his boots, his ass squeezes desperately around the two cocks still relentlessly fucking him, and he doesn’t close his eyes but his vision blurs all the same. He splatters his own and Kirk’s chest and Spock’s hands, and McCoy’s teeth are deep in his flesh, mouth stretched around his shoulder, his legs around Kirk’s waist and McCoy holding him up and Spock stroking his body, and then Kirk tries to kiss Pavel’s mouth, but Pavel’s too lost to do anything back. He’s never come so hard in his life. Nowhere near it. The orgasm wracks through his body and ruins him, leaves him a shuddering, whimpering mess with no energy and no air. A couple seconds of panting desperately and still being fucked and stroked, and Pavel can’t take it anymore.

His vision slowly seeps into black; he passes out from bliss.

* * *

Pavel comes to slowly, happily, oddly content and heavy and not sure he wants to wake up just yet. But then the aches and pains start trickling in, and once he remembers how he got them, he’s surprised they’re not all-consuming.

He’s alright. He rearranges his legs under the blanket, and that gives his sore ass room to breathe. His hole feels the right size again, and he flexes it curiously; shouldn’t it be gaping open and dribbling all over the sheets? It must be that strange, alien lubrication; he feels like he could even go for another round. Well, in an hour or so...

When he squints his eyes open, it’s dark in the room, but a bit more blinking and waiting and it comes into fruition; it’s not pure black. It’s the pale-blue glow of a dimly lit starship room, housing just enough illumination that an officer could find their way to their uniform in the middle of the night. Pavel’s uniform must be back in his quarters, because he isn’t wearing it.

He isn’t wearing anything. He’s been divested of his skirt, and the clamps are gone, leaving his nipples raw, but he just adjusts his position again to accommodate. The real point of interest to him is the broad shoulders of the man in front of him. Dr. McCoy looks surprisingly angelic when he sleeps. He looks naked too, although the blanket’s pulled up over his chest. He’s sleeping on his side, facing Pavel, his cheek digging into the pillow and one arm beneath it. For a moment, Pavel stares through the darkness, taking in every line of his handsome face. Over his shoulder, there’s a patch of pure black. Pavel lifts up one elbow to see Spock curled up against McCoy’s back, seemingly just as fast asleep.

They’re an adorable pair. But that leaves Kirk, and Pavel settles back down and rolls onto his other side to find his sleeping captain. Kirk’s facing the other way, so all Pavel can see is his strong back and golden hair. That’s probably for the best. Pavel’s not sure he would have the nerve to cuddle up against his captain if they were face-to-face. This way, it’s easy to spoon Kirk, to nestle along his back, bury into the back of his neck and breathe in the thick musk of _man_ and sex. The smell makes Pavel’s cheeks colour. The last thing he remembers is coming in the midst of being fucked by the three of them, but did that end when he passed out? Passing out is embarrassing in itself; he’ll have to apologize tomorrow. He doesn’t think they would’ve done much with him after he was out, but he hopes they managed to finish each other off, at least. Spock must’ve taken one of them; it only would’ve been fair. If only Pavel had gotten the chance...

Maybe another time. He feels ridiculously blessed to be here, but he doesn’t want it to be the last. From how easily they corralled him, he can’t imagine he’s the first. Surely they’ll let him join them again? Another thing to ask tomorrow. Even if he never gets another chance with them, he’ll always treasure the memory of tonight. It was more thrilling than he could’ve dreamed.

He doesn’t really want to go back to sleep, now that he’s up. He wants to bask in all their warmth, in the memories and his hard-earned aches, and he doesn’t want to face tomorrow, when he’ll have to put on a uniform and leave. But even with the rest he’s had, he’s been used so thoroughly, and he’s still exhausted. He closes his eyes, and that’s all it takes.

He drifts back off with his captain in his arms, knowing full well his dreams can never reach his wondrous reality.


End file.
